


Highway to Hell (and Back Again)

by alyxpoe



Series: The Woman's Tales [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Anal Plug, F/F, Flogging, Irene is wicked, Mary/John already over, Mycroft uses his best weapons, Post-Reichenbach, Technically an AU, Whips, this is not Magnussen it is Milverton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 02:23:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2530490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyxpoe/pseuds/alyxpoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Keep counting!” Irene shouts as she raises her arm and plants a scarlet slash against her client’s pale-skinned bare back with the three-tailed leather whip she’s gripping firmly in her right hand. The pudgy man grits his teeth and Irene snarls at him, watching his balding head wobble on his thick neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Highway to Hell (and Back Again)

**Author's Note:**

> I want you guys to read this. I wrote it like stupidly quick and it's probably full of mistakes, and I'm sorry for that, but it got into my brain and I couldn't shake it, so here you go, see what you think and I'll be back tomorrow. 
> 
> Please note this is Milverton, not Magnussen.

“ **K** eep counting!” Irene shouts as she raises her arm and plants a scarlet slash against her client’s pale-skinned bare back with the three-tailed leather whip she’s gripping firmly in her right hand. The pudgy man grits his teeth and Irene snarls at him, watching his balding head wobble on his thick neck. Behind her, stereo speakers blare out _Highway to Hell_ and she decides that Angus Young's gritty voice is an excellent backdrop for the artistry she's been working on this evening. _This will be an excellent ending_ , she thinks, her words pulsing in her brain with the tempo of the drums. 

> _"Livin' easy_  
>  _Lovin' free_  
>  _Season ticket on a one way ride!"_

“Seventeen!” The man cries out in a high, whiny voice mismatched to his big-boned, corpulent body.

> _"Askin' nothin'_  
>  _Leave me be_  
>  _Takin' everythin' in my stride_  
>  _Don't need reason_  
>  _Don't need rhyme_  
>  _Ain't nothin' that I'd rather do_  
>  _Goin' down_  
>  _Party time_  
>  _My friends are gonna be there too_  
>  _I'm on the highway to hell_  
>  _On the highway to hell_  
>  _Highway to hell_  
>  _I'm on the highway to hell!"_

Irene glares at the man’s soft backside, smiling wickedly as she paints a crimson slash against the pasty, trembling flesh. She steps forward and runs a long bright red nail down the center of his back leaving a ruby streak in its wake. Irene crinkles her nose as his sweat gathers beneath her nail. The man fights against the straps holding him spread eagle and upright, hips bucking forward, swollen, dripping cock searching for friction she will not give him.

“Count!” Irene hisses, this time not striking him, but running the hard tip of the switch she’s named ‘ _The Reminder’_ between his legs that he oh so obediently spreads as he bucks and pants harder. “I should have gagged you,” she mutters over the sound of his plaintive desperation as she taps the whip against the silver plug in his ass. Irene swings the lash and listens for the one-two-three thumps that let her know the triple tails have made contact.

“Eighteen!”

> _"Hey mumma_  
>  _Look at me_  
>  _I'm on the way to the promised land_  
>  _I'm on the highway to hell!"_

“Good boy,” Irene leans closer now, her breath hot on his ear. Still in that position, she haphazardly swings the whip until it strikes across the backs of his cream-in-porridge thighs. For a moment, she's half tempted to tell him everything and see if it increases his arousal or possibly agitates him into a rage. Absently, she fingers the tiny grey capsule stuck to the back of her glove with clear tape, considering that she just wants it all to end and be done with. Irene is tiring of this game but understands it's purpose all too well. 

“Yes, mistress,” he pants, head hanging low now in complete opposition to his purple, straining cock. “Nineteen,” he remembers to say, causing her to bite back the words that threaten to spill from her perfectly painted lips. 

Irene decides that he’s going to get his money’s worth, so she moves back away from the naked mattress he’s kneeling upon and sets the leather tails flying, allowing herself to lose control in a place where she cannot be seen. There are no mirrors in this room, barely any furniture save for the metal frame built to hold her clients up on their knees, and an old bed frame with a creaky mattress. As she whips him, she gives herself up to old memories until she can see that he is clearly ready to come; she takes her long, black gloves from the red leather bodice she wears and pulls them on. The fingers have been cut so that her long nails are not damaged, but they stop her own skin from contacting with the client’s.

Keeping well to the side, Irene taps the blunt end of the anal plug again then twists it hard without warning, releasing an electric shock into him. The man’s body goes rigid and he comes so hard some of his load hits the wall in front of him. Irene shakes her head and takes two steps backward towards the door.

“I’ll return in a few moments,” she announces quietly before yanking what little hair he has on his head so that his neck is bared, mouth slack and hanging open. She tucks the capsule beneath his tongue and holds his bottom jaw until he swallows, eyes bulging. 

In ten seconds, the man is now semi-conscious, head down, frothy pink drool on his chin and stinking, cooling sweat rolling down the sides of his red face, a satiated, blissful expression painted across his rubbery lips as he hangs limply in his bonds. Irene nods to herself and turns the stereo down to a more reasonable volume. 

> _"I'm goin' down_  
>  _All the way_  
>  _I'm on the highway to hell..."_

***

 **K** ate meets Irene at the bottom of the elegant spiral staircase with a porcelain bowl of warm, slightly soapy water and a clean flannel. Her blue eyes narrow at Irene’s closed-up expression.

“That bad?” she asks, helping Irene shuck off her gloves.

Irene suppresses a shudder. Instead of answering, she raises a neatly-trimmed eyebrow. "I detest ACDC" as if that is the worst part of the evening. 

Kate grins, gently caresses the side of Irene’s neck and leans in for a kiss. Irene kisses her back, softly. She exhales deeply at the end of it.

“I needed that, thank you,” Irene smiles at her lover.

“No problem,” Kate says with a lop-sided grin, “there’ll be time for us later, once you change out of your work clothes.” Kate’s blue eyes blaze a trail of heat down Irene’s skin beneath the leather.

“Indeed,” Irene says, dipping her fingers in the basin. Kate holds it steady and neither woman loses a drop.

“How long…?” Kate queries, nodding up the stairs.

“Hmmm, a few moments more, I think,” Irene daintily dries her fingers off. She reaches behind herself and starts to unzip her corset.

“Let me help,” Kate offers, setting the basin down on the side table and moving behind Irene. She deftly unzips the custom-made lingerie and doesn’t resist working her hands beneath the leather and cupping both of Irene’s breasts, pulling enough so that Irene leans against her. Irene is beginning to tremble slightly, coming down from the rush of twin highs. 

“That’s lovely, just let me get the stink off,” Irene turns in Kate’s arms, kisses her again and leans down to unhook the tops of her stiletto boots. She pulls them off so that she stands there at the bottom of the stairs barefoot, her lingerie mostly-undone, and the dark knot of her hair slowly coming apart on top of her head.

Kate thinks Irene looks absolutely delicious and tells her so. When Irene doesn’t answer, only slouches against the banister and closes her eyes, Kate asks the question that’s really on her mind.

“Did he spill his guts, lovely?” she reaches out and begins to unpin Irene’s hair, admiring how the shiny, dark locks spill to the petite woman’s shoulders.

“No, he did spill something though,” Irene sniggers like a schoolgirl.

Kate grins despite the crudeness. “Well then?”

“I know exactly where he’s holding them.” Irene’s expression hardens, her eyes flash with intent, the slow drop of chemicals in her brain and body replaced in an instant with a new fire, though one not stoked as brightly. 

“Shall I text Mycroft, then?” Kate asks as she turns to take the basin back to the kitchen.

“Have him call me; I need to know what to do with Charlie.”

Kate bites her bottom lip, holding in the smile that matches the satisfied one Irene is wearing. “Will do,” she says, heels tapping over the polished hardwood leading into the rest of the house.

Irene’s gaze is steely and level, no one save three people in particular could see the slight tick brought on by stress in the corner of her right eye as she strides across the hallway to their bedroom. She grabs her scarlet silk kimono from the screen in front of the window then tosses it on the bed as she peels out of the rest of the leather suit. Once it is all on the floor, she kicks it away absently and pulls on her kimono, relishing in the sensuous slide of cool silk on her overly warm skin. Irene sighs, decides she’s put in a good day’s work and retrieves her mobile from the top drawer of the bedside table where a selection of toys catch her eye. She turns the phone back on and notes she’s already missed one call and one text.

The call is from Mycroft Holmes, the text from his younger brother.

_Thank you. –SH_

Irene sits down on the bed, crosses her legs as she punches numbers into the phone then grins haughtily into the mirror over the vanity as Mycroft picks up on the other end.

“Get him out of my house,” she says in her favorite coy tone, "he's positively revolting."

“I will have a team there within minutes, Miss Adler.” Mycroft’s voice is only a few degrees warmer than the normal tone he uses when he speaks to her.

“You must have really been concerned this time, Mycroft, are you slipping in your old age?” Irene grins in a most vulpine manner at her own reflection.

“Ah, Irene, the old games as per the usual?”

Irene can hear the thud of his brolly against the side of his chair; not in a car then, she deduces. “Old dear Charlie was awfully interesting, you know. Though he is quite a disgusting little piggy.”

Mycroft briefly chuckles in her ear, a sound as dark as Guinness. “That he is. Have you been in contact yet?”

“With your baby brother, you mean?” Irene purrs throatily, vaguely wondering why she even bothers anymore. The doppleganger in the mirror shrugs and rolls her eyes at the thought.

“Miss Adler, please, unfortunately I have too many—ah, how shall I say this? Pokers in the fire to play games with you at the moment.”

“Fine,” Irene pouts prettily. “Yes, he sent me a text message. You got John home safely, I assume?”

“We did, thank you for your help.” Mycroft drawls.

“I do believe you actually mean that, Mister Holmes.”

Another soft sound that can only be a chuckle reaches Irene’s ear. “You know I do. It was better that I send old dear Charlie your way, since I am fairly certain my brother was going to flat out murder him, most likely using John’s gun.”

“That would not have been a pretty sight.”

“No, Irene, on that I have to agree. Will that be all, then?”

“I believe so. Is John alright?”

“Yes. If not, he will be once we get the other mess cleaned up…well, you already know about Mary, don’t you?”

Irene listens carefully to the sound of a bottle being opened, liquid being poured then sloshing against ice as it is lifted. “My apologies for not being able to help with her, Mycroft.”

“I do believe _you_ mean _that_.” Mycroft states blandly as he attempts to take a polite sip of his Scotch.

“I do. Mycroft, you know John loves him, right?”

“As if you need to tell me, Miss Adler. Good night.”

“Good night.” Irene says into empty air. She powers the phone down again and tosses it back into the drawer. After the day she’s had, it’s time for a bit of a break. Pulling the sash of her kimono tight around her waist, she snags Kate’s white one off the hook on the back of the bedroom door and carries it with her to the library where Kate surely has the fire stoked and a disc already in the Blu-ray player. As she walks, Irene wonders idly if the youngest Holmes has any idea how often she is a bit player on the stage of his colorful, chaotic life.

**Author's Note:**

> Highway to Hell (C) ACDC Copyright: Albert J Son Pty Publ Ltd., J Albert And Son Pty Ltd., J. Albert And Son Pty Ltd.


End file.
